Toujours
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: Amelie and Oliver from the beginning. Short snaps of various points in their relationship, from the very start, until Bite Club. R&R please. Title thanks to NothingnessAlchemist.


**_TITLE THANKS TO NOTHINGNESSALCHEMIST WHO REMINDED ME OF MY FRENCH! :) - READ HER REVIEW! :D_**

_So, this fic is one I've been going to do for a long time but only decided to now, to try and help me out of a touch of writer's block for MV stories…namely Fragile Web. Apart from this, I'm not writing _anything_ until I manage to finish that story's chapter!_

_Seriously, this has taken me __**more**__ than a week to write, inbetween the tonne of hw I've gotten!_

_I asked Vitzy to choose between two pairings so you get this one simply because she chose it!_

_And this is partly for Danielle, since she's my new therapist (whether she knows this yet is unknown). _

_Oliver/Amelie_

_Oh yeah & I edited the timeline slightly from what year Oliver said he was born in fade Out…_

**From the beginning…**

* * *

_3__rd__ September 1576:_

It's the end of the 'summer holidays' some would say, the end of the break from Parliament and the period for the Royal Court where they travel the country, staying with various noble lords and wealthy landowners. It's a time where Queen Elizabeth does not reside in Whitehall, her preferred residence for the winter months, but rather travels the country, meeting and greeting her subjects who, for the most part, adore her.

It's the three months which Amelie dreads, the time when she must give up her place of distinction within the Royal Court and return to her past (and probably her future) habit of hiding in darkened houses or reside with Myrnin inside his laboratory.

She's a lady of _pride_, of honour – to be forced to hide in such a murky way, forced to hide herself from the others in the country, never appeals to her…it's with a heavy heart she bids farewell to the various other favourites of the Queen, citing the requirement to return to her own family for a few months as her reason for not partaking in the tour of the country. After all, she can hardly do it as a vampire, can she? To spend entire days riding upon the back of a horse in the sweltering sun hardly seems the brightest of ideas, even for a one thousand year old vampire.

But now, now the end of solitude and isolation (but for Myrnin, without whom she would be utterly lost, though she will not admit this) is over and there shall be a huge welcoming feast for the return of the royal party to Whitehall.

She has been preparing for this day for many a week now, ensuring the dress she has deigned to wear fits with the current fashion, preparing her usually flawless 'English' accent which often becomes rusty with the lack of need during the months off and simply dreaming of new chances to see the elegance of royal life. She missed it for the many centuries she was forced to stay away, regretting each year the loss of chances to attend parties and spend the evening dancing in rooms decorated with the most _exquisite_ of things.

And the men – the suitors who clamour for her always sets her on edge slightly, the knowledge that she could have them if she so desired more enjoyable than the actual relationship. It's one of the most enjoyable parts of being both in the upper circle _and_ being wonderfully beautiful – knowing _she_ has all the power with suitors is probably the best part.

Oh, but the blood could be deemed _parfait_, also.

"Amelie, _must_ you clutter up my laboratory with all these clothes?" Myrnin mutters as he shoves piles of her attire onto other benches as he attempts to continue some experiment or other.

"_Must_ you moan every year?" she responds, completing the styling of her hair with a flourish as she slots a pin into place. "You are too predictable, Myrnin, something which may turn out to be your downfall if we come to meet other vampires," she continues, not sharing with him her plans to find another vampire to join them. Whilst he is a most valued friend for her, she desires another to converse with, someone to perhaps act as a medium between herself and Myrnin in times when they are on entirely different pages. And, in all honesty, she has no desire to find a suitable human for the change – to ensure they do not give away their status by murdering every human in the neighbourhood is not particularly endearing to her; it was hard enough with Myrnin, someone who _wanted_ to be turned, so why put herself through the hardship of no court and the burden of a child?

_Perhaps there shall be one present_, she laments, knowing that this shall not be the case – the last vampire to attend Queen Elizabeth's court whilst she has been there was three years ago and he was sent to Rome, never to be heard of again.

But perhaps tonight…there's always a chance.

…

She arrives at the dance in good steed, accepting a hand down from the carriage out of her position rather than need. With a small smile, she walks into the ballroom and stands by the side, waiting for the arrival of the Queen. In her heart, she knows that this is the final year she is able to attend court for the entirety of the Tudor reign. Whilst she would be able to compel a small number of the guests to forget her age, there are too many every dance and so many wait staff that her effort would be wasted – no, it would be back to the background she returns for the duration of Elizabeth's reign (for she is too old to birth a child, the line shall end here) and only when she has died will Amelie be able to return to the elegance of this life.

Her eyes roam the crowds for a face she has not seen before, someone new and exciting, a person whose blood is yet to fill her mouth. All the (admittedly handsome) men have been here before…apart from the one at the very back of the hall.

He's older than her, much more…she wouldn't say _refined_, for she is the utmost model of control, yet he seems to have lived more than her. It seems strange to say, for she has roamed the planet for far longer than he, yet he appears to have _lived_ – actually worked, in a sense, had to feel hardships her physical appearance does not betray she has faced.

Yet he isn't _just_ aged, no, he is _elegant_. As she looks at him, she can see the lines of symmetry in his face, see the wisdom in his eyes and she knows he was handsomer than the other men in this room in his youth. His age has brought an air of dignity and class that she knows the others in there are yet to have – and probably never will. Oh, he would make her heart-

She doesn't hear a heartbeat.

The entirety of her attention thus far has been on his appearance, wondering what lies beneath the surface of his skin – she never contemplated having to listen for a heartbeat! After all, why would she, since the vampire population here seems to be none bar her and Myrnin?

Intrigued by this visitor's presence in _her_ court, she glides towards him – and as she does, she realises he recognises what she is also.

"Why hello, my lady," he bows to her as she curtseys slightly, her eyes flickering up and down his body. She decides he cannot be _too_ old – three in vampire years at a push – and it seems almost hilarious that he is here; if he is a threat from another vampire she has crossed paths with prior to this day, he is a bad one!

"Good evening, sir, may I inquire why you are here?" the question is whispered in such a low tone that it should never be heard above the din in the room, yet he can hear it with perfect clarity.

"I deigned to come to court today, for I have had the invitation to come for years now, yet only this season did I choose to accept," he speaks in a normal volume of voice, noticing humans around them – it would appear suspicious to be apparently merely moving his lips.

"I understand," she responds, deciding to ask the next obvious question (to her, at least) in an aroundabout manner, which he should _hopefully_ understand. Men's logic only appear to be decreasing in quantity as the years go by; Myrnin comprehends her questions in another manner quite easily, yet others have been less able to as the years progress…unless it is the quality of man that is decreasing, she laments with a small smile. "So, good sir, you look in fine health. How long has that been the case, for I can see a small blemish that indicates to me perhaps a case of smallpox in the past?" she lies smoothly, watching his face carefully to see how well he understands.

She is both disappointed and pleased as she notices a brightening of his eyes, indicating that he understands the question and it's double meaning. There is no lack of perception as to what she means _entirely_; he knows she knows he is a vampire, most likely through the same way that he knows she is one.

"I suffered from a most painful illness three years ago," he appears to allow himself the luxury of a smile, his eyes trained on her face, attempting to read her reactions. She's hotheaded in so many respects, yet she has always been able to keep a poker face in regards to her feelings and knows that this has not changed here.

"Ah, is that so?" she nods along politely, waiting for the humans behind them to simply turn away and become disinterested in their conversation.

"Yes…an ageing man himself came to my assistance, helping me through the illness and now here I stand before you," his words instantly send her mind someplace where she fights instantly to get it back from. Surely there are more ageing male vampires than her father?

"Ahh, I understand," she manages to murmur through her frozen lips. She _needs_ to know if he was made by Mr Bishop, made by her father. She needs to know, if this is the case, where it occurred so that she can stay as far away from there as possible – if she's close to him, she'll have to kill him. "I do believe it may just be myself, yet it is rather warm in here. Would you accompany me outside?"

He nods slowly, reaching out to take her hand as is custom in the current time period. It's all she can do to prevent herself throwing him off – she doesn't like to be touched by other vampires, for it feels strange to her. Her mind continually contemplates the likelihood of her being killed by the foreign vampire, whether she needs to be defending herself from them or attacking them before they attack her.

They head outside and once they are away from the sight of the humans, she grabs him by the neck and throws him into the wall. The fury in her eyes startles him, for he has not done anything against her and never expected to even find another vampire here.

"Who are you?" she demands, her voice shooting the words out like music, the harshness disguised by the tinkling tone.

"My name is Oliver," he says, her hand not tight enough to prevent him enough air to breathe in order to talk. "Before you ask, I have not been sent by anyone nor did I expect to find another vampire here. I was invited along with the royal court to return here when they did for the party and this is what I did, though I am sure you can agree the manner I got here was rather more discrete."

She blinks, wrong footed by his launch into his presence here without her asking for it. "And I presume you would like to meet other vampires to live with?" she asks, Oliver nodding in agreement as she speaks.

"Most definitely; it is hard to be out in a world who believe in our species when you are alone – I presume it has been easier for you because you have another?" he speaks much easier as she sets him down, returning to the dainty lady she was mere minutes before.

"Yes, would you like to join us?" now the threat has been removed from the situation, she once again finds him more than slightly charming. There's something to him that she perhaps would find threatening in someone with a lesser calibre of charm, someone who has a less complicated personality than she presumes he does. It ought to worry her that she is letting her guard down so hastily with someone new to her, yet she does not seem to care.

"Yes," is his simple response, this being the one word that changes their worlds forever. Without this agreement, nothing that occurs in the future would happen.

They begin to walk back towards her home, all thoughts of the party forgotten. With another male in her life, she knows she must leave the court much sooner, for though Myrnin and herself are mere friends, it would appear wrong to have another male in her home life. They must move on – and quickly.

"Whoever made you, dear Oliver?" she asks once they are done with the simplistic introductions, comparing ages and places of origin.

"An ageing male vampire named Mr Bishop," his answer forces her to halt near instantly, a chill running through her body as she hears the name of her father.

Mr Bishop is back.

This can never be good.

_~x~  
that night_

They head back to her home with Myrnin, the latter looking shocked as she brings another home.

"I thought there were no vampires in the court?" he looks confused as she introduces the male vampire, already levelling up to the elder alchemist in the first of many arguments.

"Oliver had just arrived," she explains softly. "Now, we are all leaving. I know Mr Bishop has been in the area for _quite_ some time and I must be as far from that man as possible. We shall leave tomorrow," she continues, her voice hardening as her eyes look towards the skies in her planning for what to take with her.

And, with that, she swirls away from them, not even bothering to direct Oliver what to do. he is, understandably, confused as to what the connection is with his maker and her, but as he goes to ask Myrnin what it is, the other vampire shakes his head with an evil grin.

"She has only told me – if you have not been informed, she does not trust you enough with that knowledge," he is happy about having information his new rival does not. "After all, you are rather young, are you not?"

"Boys," Amelie's dry tone calls down the stairs as Oliver begins to respond.

Leaving.

But to where, and what for?

_~x~  
Prague, November 1577_

The three of them sweep up towards the main shopping area, their eyes focused on finding the undead walking amongst the living. It's a well known fact that Prague is _the_ place for vampires to live, surprisingly, and almost everyone they have seen on the outskirts of town has been of their 'breed'.

They've been searching for Mr Bishop for nearly seven months now, ever since Amelie decided that she no longer wanted to continue to run from him; she wanted him dead. He has the crown of being the 'eldest' vampire, the one who makes the decisions so to speak, and a mere handful of vampires know what he does – one of them being Amelie. She wants rid of him, wants to take his place as the eldest vampire in the world – she wants the control.

Oliver still doesn't know why she wants Mr Bishop dead, a bone of contention between Myrnin and himself, the former whom continues to deny him the knowledge. They have tracked Bishop throughout England, across the channel to Ireland before up to Scotland before he then made his way through France and, finally, back to Prague. Amelie has seen the mess left behind everywhere he has been, vampires made everywhere and even, in one case, an entire family being turned into a vampire family, as a 'joke' by her father.

She's been getting closer to Oliver, almost ready to decide whether or not she can entrust him with her most dangerous of secrets; he knows she's powerful and strong- she wouldn't still be living if she were not – yet if he knows she is the daughter of the most ruthless vampire in their history, he may never see her the same.

They've got a plan that when this is all over, when she's managed to kill Mr Bishop, they'll go back to the place where everything began for her, that she'll show him her history. Perhaps she'll even reveal the connection between her and Bishop, though that could come earlier.

As they three march down the street, she spots the person she has been looking for. It's Ysandre, the psychotic vampire female who has been one of the reasons why she has stayed as far from her father as possible for the past seven hundred years. She's violent and volatile, so unpredictable that she's even a danger to Amelie at times.

"Her," Amelie mouths to the men with her, her eyes whipping over the area to keep an eye on the woman, eager to see where she heads and whether this will be to her father.

She can only hope that this is the case.

_~x~_

That night, Myrnin goes out hunting or engages in some other past time which allows Amelie a chance to speak with Oliver alone for the first time in many a month. It's supposed to be a time when she clarifies her feelings for him, whether she is merely imagining the possibility of something being there between them or if there _is_, yet it transpires to have been doomed from the very beginning.

"Oliver," she begins but runs out of steam, not knowing how to continue.

"How do you know Bishop?" he shoots at her, they having dropped the 'Mr' from his name a long time ago, deeming him unfit to have the title.

She hesitates, not knowing how to phrase a possible connection between herself and her father without revealing their familirial connection. "I…came across him approximately one thousand years ago, in a time when he was still human. The details are not particularly interesting nor relevant, yet he was the one who turned me and attempted to place me under his control as a 'weapon'. We have not spoken since the day that I nearly killed him in anger and I left for England. That is all."

Her tone makes it obvious to him that he shouldn't push the issue further, something which he deigns not to do. So, instead, he simply sits by her side and takes a sip of the ale in his hands, not sure what to do.

He can't tell if she reciprocates the feelings he has had for her since they met at the royal court over a year ago, the moment where their worlds collided for the first time. It is always hard to see how Amelie feels, for whilst she is fiery and passionate about things close to her heart, this can cloud her true feelings about something – or someone.

He continues to sit there until she excuses herself, sneaking away to wonder if she can continue to lie to Oliver. He's gotten so close in the past year or so, to continue to hide this from him could destroy them both.

But how can she tell him?

_~x~_

Days later and she's planning on sneaking away from the two male vampires with her in an attempt to finish her father by herself. She doesn't want Myrnin's overeagerness to hinder her, nor for Oliver to discover the familirial connection between herself and the intended target.

He has something that she desires, something that will mean she must get in extremely close to kill him, for she cannot allow the knowledge contained in the book to possibly get into the wrong hands. More than that, there are things in there to do with alchemy that even Myrnin does not know; she wants to expand _all_ of their knowledge in a way that will make them _truly_ irreplaceable, truly immortal.

After all, you don't kill the only vampires who know everything about your kind, do you?

She's already walking out of the small home they share in Prague, their base for the past few weeks as they have been searching for Bishop, when he runs out after her. The remnants of the glittering sun begins to burn his young skin, so she forces him into the shadow of the house, concern for him evident on her face.

"Don't do it without us," his tone is pleading, almost similar to begging. "You require myself and that _dog_ – why else would you have brought us with you if you did not?" he makes a good, valid point that she herself had forgotten about.

"You truly wish to risk your life to stand with me?" she confirms, hesitating, her hand twirling into her thick, black cloak nervously.

The steadiness of his gaze into her own eyes solidifies her belief that he is telling the truth, the confidence in his voice when he verbally tells her he does – it makes her realise that there _could_ be something here.

Firstly, however, they must live through the murdering of her father.

…

The three of them leave the house the following night at sunset, headed for the location where they know Bishop shall be – emerging from his crypt in the graveyard. It's the only place he could find to stay since every vampire in Prague is up in arms against him…not that this has prevented him killing scores of them.

Now, only Amelie, Oliver and Myrnin dare stand against him.

Well, he doesn't know that they're here. He has not laid eyes on his daughter since she walked away, he has never seen Myrnin and the last time he was face to face with Oliver, he was turning him into a vampire. The imminent meeting of this trio will be of great surprise to Bishop.

Amelie walks forwards slowly, purposefully, determined not to hurry and destroy her chance of destroying her father once and for all. He is the eldest vampire currently, yet she will be the one to take that 'crown' – and with her knowing the secrets of being a vampire near exclusively, _nobody_ will try and destroy her for fear of losing their heritage.

No, to ensure that she can never be usurped, _she_ will be the only vampire with the knowledge how to make new vampires - for how can they kill the only one with the knowledge to redevelop their kind?

Mere minutes later and she can smell his scent upon the ground, intensifying as they walk further into the copse where they know he shall be. In fact, this is where his final resting place shall be – they dug a shallow grave earlier in the week, during the day, and this is the best night they have found to attack.

He is alone, she can tell, and this only makes her more eager to get there – something which dampens her senses slightly. Yet she makes it there in one piece, Myrnin by her side whilst Oliver is struggling a little behind.

Then he turns around.

"Daughter, how long has it been now?" her Father utters, his lips curving slightly to form a small smile. The first word catches Oliver's attention, a gasp issuing from him that causes Bishop to smile further. "Ahh, you, the one who wanted turning. I see you deigned to follow my daughter – I can see she did not tell you she is my kin."

"I am _not_ your kin!" she spits out venomously, unable to allow him to mention they are related one more time. "You severed that bond _long_ ago, most likely at the time when _I saw you murder my mother_!"

Unable to handle herself any longer, she draws the narrow, yet extremely sharp, silver dagger from her cloak and advances towards him. He allows her to think she has a chance of catching him before ducking away, trying to get the advantage back from her.

"You think I would not know that the next time we came face to face would be a situation like this?" he scoffs. "I always knew you were a mistake, Amelie. Whilst you may have my strengths, you also have your mother's weaknesses, something which I only wish was not the-"

"Dare to speak ill of my mother again and I will force you to suffer the same fate she did – yet much more painfully," she hisses, belief ringing in every syllable of the sentence, so much so that Bishop even looks slightly concerned for his life.

"And what makes you think you could manage something like that?" he comments in a light tone, trying to get under her skin. "After all, Amelie, you are _nothing_ compared to me – and you know that. You have never been able to defeat me and I know you are aware that you have nothing special in your ranks that could usurp me."

"You're wrong," Myrnin, to the surprise of the others there, utters this statement – not Amelie, as Bishop expected. The shock of the identity of the speaker leaves the rest of them standing utterly still for near enough a minute, the shock being enough to leave Myrnin as offended as he possibly ever has.

"You have trained your servants well, Amelie," Bishop finally says, not knowing what else to say. She merely shrugs, not letting it show that she was semi-hurt and shocked that it was not _Oliver_ mentioning that her father was wrong – or perhaps it may be for the shock of discovering the familirial link between the father and daughter continues to be too much for him to absorb quickly.

"We, her servants?" after a long pause, Oliver finally speaks, snorting slightly as he finishes the rhetorical question. "Oh, how mistaken you are. We are _equals_, Bishop, evidently a concept you have yet to come across on your crusade of pilfering and murder. I saw your battle at Drogheda, the way you decimated every single vampire there without a thought of mercy. You fought in a way that showed you had no _true_ alliance with 'your vampires', that you left them for dead when they were dying or killed them yourself – you have never thought of the idea that more than one vampire could be on the same level-"

"That is merely for they cannot," Bishop says wearily, not noticing the path his daughter is weaving towards him. The distraction in the form of Oliver is a mighty method for his demise, Amelie realises, and she is captivating upon it, not entirely sure if it was intentional from Oliver for this to occur, but not caring. If it ensures her planet is rid from her father forever, she does not care.

"They _can_," Oliver shoots back, desperate to keep Bishop's attention. Myrnin deigns to join in, having decided that Bishop is the side to join in order to confuse the elderly vampire more, in an attempt to ensure that Amelie has more time to get her aim perfect – she only has one shot.

"Actually, I think I agree with Bishop," Myrnin butts in, resulting in Oliver narrowing his eyes at him in more than slightly a confused manner. "After all, _I_ am more important than Oliver, for he is young and idiotic, a combination that never works out well."

"And you have not suffered the same thing yourself?" Oliver gags, not realising instantly that Myrnin is merely playing along with the situation in order to bring it to a cleaner ending, with less blood spilled.

Observing the mock argument, Amelie shakes her head slightly, realising that in a normal situation, this would not be fake. Yet, as she attempts to focus upon the task at hand, she finds herself thinking of Oliver. She regrets withholding the truth from him in a way that resulted in his finding out of her birthright from the one person she desired _not_ to reveal it – Myrnin has always known where she has come from, yet Oliver…the one person she did not want to know now does.

Gritting her teeth slightly, she advances towards her father from behind, not caring that this is the _cowardly_ way by which to kill someone – it's the only way that she has a clear shot of destroying him, so why not take it.

However, as she is almost there, he turns around as if has been expecting this also. "Intriguing technique, having your friends attempt to argue with me as you prepare to stab me in the back like a coward."

And, with this, he lunges at her.

She is knocked to the ground, dirt instantly latching itself into her clothing and hair whilst the knife is flung across the graveyard. She sighs slightly before engaging in hand-to-hand combat with her father, recognising he has the upper hand slightly in age, as well as the surprise factor – she never realised that he would do this.

Whilst Oliver and Myrnin watch in confusion – this was never part of the plan – she struggles, deigning to use her secret weapons in the realm of fighting to her advantage, slithering away from him instantly as soon as she ceases to outwardly attack him back.

He expects her to run for the knife, so begins to cut her off, laughing slightly as he does so.

She doesn't.

Instead, she makes for Oliver, running to him in a fashion that confuses everyone present. But the urgency in her eyes as she motions for him to duck results in him not even blinking inbetween processing her request and following it, becoming one with the ground near instantly. She jumps over him neatly, twirling round and bending low to the ground to lift a hidden knife from the bracken and concealing it instantly in the sleeve of her cloak. The only other privy to this information is Oliver.

She runs now towards her Father, who is motionless in the centre of the copse area, intrigued to see where his daughter shall move next. He expects her to skulk in the pointless shadows, yet she goes straight for him, merely unsheafing the blade when she is almost upon him.

It's almost anti-climatic after this point. The knife pierces the membrane of his skin, sliding right through into where she believes his heart to be – if he has one.

He falls to the ground in an arch, unable to speak or even move as she begins to rummage through his pockets to find the book – something which is then handed to Oliver when she does.

.

The three of them roll him into the grave, deigning not to remove the knife. No last words are uttered, though he is dead, but a relieved sigh is a common sound between the trio as they make their way back to their base.

"So we are to return to England?" Myrnin confirms as he loiters outside his room, his voice slightly bitter still. He was stung that Amelie chose Oliver to possess the book, not her longest friend, yet the euphoria of _finally_ having defeated her father has her skirt over this issue.

"Once we have alerted the vampires of Prague that he is no longer present in this world, yes, we shall return," she smiles, looking over at Oliver for confirmation. He neither agrees nor disagrees with her statement, simply starting in the opposite direction. She can't tell what he's thinking, something which worries her since she can usually see his thoughts through his eyes – it's one of the many things that make her think that they belong together.

"Fine," Myrnin mutters, stalking through the doorway and into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Which leaves Amelie and Oliver together.

"Oliver…" she begins by saying his name, this being the one thing that has him turn back to her, as if he has not heard anything before this.

"Amelie, why did you not tell me of the relationship between yourself and Bishop?" he blurts out straight away, not bothering to 'beat around the bush' in this situation.

She hesitates before walking through to the living room area of their house in Prague, sitting down in her chair as she contemplates every possible answer.

Finally, she settles on the truth.

"I chose not to tell you because I didn't want you to think of _him_ and then tarnish me with the same brush because you assumed that I am just like him," she sighs, placing her head in her hands. the dirt transfers all over her and she registers this in part of her brain but the rest of her only wonders whether she has ruined what could be the possibility for her and Oliver to spend time together through their eternal life.

He sits down opposite her and shakes his head. "If I had not heard it from his mouth and then confirmed by you, I would not believe you were related," he tells her honesty, this sentence raising her spirits greatly. "I can see why you desire to remove yourself from him. After all, I see nothing of him in you, perhaps barring your unparalleled combat skills."

"If the pair of you _must_ continue to compliment one another – Amelie, I know you were about to compliment him – could you please take it outside, I'm trying to sleep?" Myrnin's loud voice calls through disdainfully, the humour in the situation almost having Amelie smile.

She nods, though he cannot hear this, and stands up, moving for her bedroom. "We shall continue this conversation another time, in another situation," she murmurs to Oliver. "Goodnight."

She disappears before he can respond, the word issuing from his throat much softer than his usual tone.

"Goodnight."

_~x~  
September 1578_

They don't find chance to continue their conversation until nearly an entire year later – the near imminent departure from Prague never occurred. Amelie had to prove she had the powers of the Eldest vampire in the world, using the book as the main evidence to show her Father died. The grave with the scent of vampire and Bishop's blood furthered this, though nobody had the desire to dig down into the dirt to see his body for themselves.

It ended up being that she did not leave Prague until mid-March, a time spent securing herself as the most important vampire in the world. Meanwhile, she sent Oliver and Myrnin back to England to do whatever they wished to do – separately, of course, since she didn't want to lose either of them by them fighting uncontrollably.

When she _did_ return to England, a country her home for so long it felt like she belonged there, she did not have time to find Oliver. He wasn't with Myrnin – according to the alchemist, he had headed around the country, exploring, though he returned to his 'base' in Herefordshire near weekly.

So she sent him a letter to request him to meet with her on this date nearly four months ago, a response coming merely the week after that he was very much looking forward to it.

And now she is, sitting in the chair of her office, not knowing what she is going to say or how even to contemplate putting into words the longing for him she has felt for him in the many months they have been apart. She thought that it would decrease with time, not intensify to the point where she is almost confused as to _what_ the point of her life is without him.

If they are not destined to be together that is fine, so long as she knows this – so long as it is set out to the point where the confirmation is that she and Oliver are not for one another. If that is the case then it shall allow her to get on with her life, in opposition to just _not knowing_. If there's one thing Amelie hates, it's not knowing where she stands in accordance to a situation.

The door opens when she is pensive, her thoughts causing a small creasing between her brows which gives away she is debating most deeply. He chuckles slightly, resulting in her jumping higher than she has in months.

"Ahh, to believe you are the same one who destroyed your father would make non-knowers _highly_ suspicious as to the integrity of the situation," Oliver comments lightly, moving to sit down before the woman who narrows her eyes at him as he speaks. It's all too formal, she deliberates, yet how else is there to sit? Upon his lap, as if they are already together? No, that is not proper.

"And to believe you are the same Oliver who was by my side is just as unbelievable, for I have not seen you for so long, I can barely recognise you," she retorts, an edge of hot-headedness to her tone that he has missed. Whilst she is violent and fury filled upon the battlefield, in other situations she changes between her true personality and another one of control, how she thinks she _ought_ to behave like.

He shrugs slightly, words failing him before the woman who he has been running from, in an attempt to put this moment off. He doesn't want to run the risk of labelling his feelings for this woman as simply being unrequited 'lust', nothing of true meaning below the surface – then what would the point of the past two years have been?

What would the purpose of their first meeting have been to stick in his mind, if all it symbolised was a lack of feeling?

"Oliver, I…" Amelie begins at the same time as Oliver says her name. Therefore, they both stop talking, leaving the room utterly silent as they both motion for the other to continue their sentence. Finally, Oliver does.

"Amelie, I care not for reciprocated feelings at the minute – I have been holding these feelings in for _far_ too long, almost since the moment we met. I didn't know whether you felt the same, so I kept it in but I shouldn't have, it has only prolonged something painful and led me to have doubts in my mind as to whether you feel the same way."

She looks up from the desk at this point, sensing he has finished, and locks eyes with him, startlingly obvious (and almost _glistening_) grey eyes locking into his darker ones, a shock running through them almost as they make this connection.

Almost without realising, her hand reaches out to cover his softly, her eyes never once leaving his. They're like a window into his soul, a chance for her to see that he means what he says, that he does want her – he's not making it up to get to her.

Perhaps she can tell the truth, also.

"I…I do believe you have near perfectly summarised the precise statement I would have given," she smiles once again, only slightly, but in a way that signifies the truth is being spoken. "I can't say that I believe wholly in the term of love, yet what I feel for you is not a mere shadow of this. I do believe it is the real thing, the idea that I want you close to me for eternity, not a mere longing that shall fade."

He nods, this seeming slightly too formal, and he pulls his hand away. For a moment, she worries she has said something too serious, that he doesn't want this, but when he stands and moves around the desk to face her, she knows what he is going to do.

She does not move, simply allows him to bend over towards her and press his own soft lips to hers. It's nothing like she imagined it would be; no, it's much softer, as if Oliver isn't really Oliver when he's near to her – all the harshness fades from him and simply leaves a loving man in it's place.

Her hands find themselves moving up to wrap themselves round his neck as she moves to her feet to make it easier and slightly more comfortable for herself.

And, for the first time in many a year, she feels content.

_~x~  
January 1590_

They've been in a state of 'happiness' for many a year now, yet he can feel that there is something changing. It's not their relationship – he knows he is happier than ever with her, the first time he has ever felt truly happy with a woman – yet it's something inside _him_. It's the old cliché, it's not you, it's me…but, in this case, this is the truth.

Rather than the Queen he should have allegiance to, he finds himself finding a certain kinship with King Phillip of Spain, the failed leader of the Spanish Armada of 1588. It's comparable with the situation with Amelie – rather, the power she has.

The entire reason he became a vampire was for power, so he could control the world. He's awfully young, he realises, compared to the others, but he's stronger and more determined – he has skills in the realm of fighting, unlike many of the others. They fight merely to survive, whilst he had a certain need to fight from a young boy – he was drafted up into the army of King Henry VIII and if he didn't fight with weapons accurately, he didn't survive. He has the advantage over some of the elder vampires, who feel no need to get up to date with weaponry, since they're stronger than humans, yet since he was around when guns were invented, he has this advantage over them.

But there's the dilemma. To gain the power he desires, the power he has always wanted, he would have to hurt Amelie, the woman he knows he loves. He's always known it, and even she accepts the labelling of their feelings as love, something which took time after her father. He could do it, of course he could, but it's the toss up between his lifelong desire and the woman.

There's always a woman involved.

It's like a toss up inside of himself; part of him wants to forget he has ever had these revolutionary thoughts, whilst the niggling bit inside that _wants_ to remove her grows stronger and more prominent with every day that passes. He realises that the longer he suppresses it, the more likely it is to overtake him, yet how can he accept that he must loose Amelie to get his desire? Or loose himself to keep her?

The toss up continues throughout the entire month, Amelie not realising anything is wrong. They're due to move to another location soon, to avoid the suspicion caused by not ageing, but he knows that he could lose himself before then.

She's humming in her study, he can hear it and it's driving him crazy, rendering him unable to think about which way to go. He just wants to shut her up, when he realises that merely a year ago (at the most), this noise would have endeared him.

So he knows which way he's gone.

.

The darkness in him seems to take over near instantly after he realises that he cannot fight it. He begins to prepare to overthrow Amelie as soon as he accepts this. Now, he knows how he'll do it, how he shall ensure that he can take her power in a way that will guarantee she can never take it back. He won't kill her, no (he could never live with that), yet she can never have the chance to get the power back.

He sneaks into her study when he thinks she's sleeping, a glass containing a white powder crushed beyond visibility – even to vampires. He sets it down on the desk with a clang, his fangs extended and his eyes wild.

Suddenly, her head shoots up and her arm out to grasp his hand in place as she looks up at him. her eyes find his, the one thing she can always use to tell if he is truthfully with her, and she realises she cannot read them; they're wild and raging beyond control, in a realm where she knows the only thing he desires from her is power.

"No," she whispers, the word sounding extremely fragile as it is uttered from her pale, unmoving lips. "No, you can't, Oliver. I thought you loved me…" she trails off, holding back the tears in her eyes.

"I did…I do," he whispers, trying to trick her into releasing him so he can absorb her power – defeat her truly. "Amelie, I don't want to hurt you-"

"Then why have I been able to sense the desire rolling off you, desire for power?" she shoots back, her own eyes ablaze with anger as she stands suddenly. Her authority rolls from her, reminding him who is in control. "Why have I been able to hear your preparations for this, your little mutterings, the way that you borrowed the stone and mortar from Myrnin to crush the powder – something, for reference for you, I can still see due to my age? Why, Oliver? Why?"

By the end, her voice is near broken, the sounds of betrayal running through it. She releases him but pushes him away, a gesture which makes him realise he cannot attempt to kill her now. He has already not been killed, something which, if any other vampire had attempted what he has, would have already happened.

"Even love cannot change me," he says finally, backing away to the door. He's frightened that she shall change her mantra, that she'll come after him angrily, ripping him limb from limb – again, something he has seen her do.

She shakes her head slightly, a hint of a heartbroken smile playing upon her lips. "Oh, I can see that," she says, bitterness lining her voice – entirely different to the angelic appearance she has. "Leave now, Oliver. You have been spared due to the last years we have spent together. If you attempt to contact myself, Myrnin or any of my other allies, know that you shall not be spared again."

He nods slowly, a small tear in his eye from the part of him that hated himself for doing this.

But he walks away.

.

As soon as he's gone, she sits back down in her chair, stunned more than pained at this point. Everything has happened so fast – mere _days_ ago, she was happy…not until Myrnin pointed out to her that Oliver was behaving strangely, that he had been partaking in strange underground dealings was she concerned for her _lover_ – pah! What a word that is now, one that has no meaning other than betrayal.

Perhaps she had been right not to allow herself to love before.

Finally, the tears begin to fall from her eyes, rolls of liquid spilling down her cheeks and she rubs them away impatiently. She has no time or desire for tears. No, she must be strong, to reassert herself in a way that shall ensure _nobody_ dares to take her on again. No, she will never have a weakness again.

_~x~  
September 1697_

For over one hundred years she has continued to live in London, or the neighbouring areas, the location which reminds her continually of _him_. She has seen the capital go through disaster after disaster, the Great Plague of 1665, the Great Fire of London in 1666…each time, she's reminded of why she gave up her ideas of distance for protection for him, thinking that it was a life that needed to be lead. If only she hadn't…then she would not be feeling this way.

Every time she hears the name _Oliver_, her heart contracts and she insists they must move to another location. Myrnin doesn't really care – he's always hated Oliver so to be shot of him is heaven, yet to see his best friend hurting in such a way is near torture for him.

So, when the news of a boat to America arrives, he decides to propose it, tentatively incase she declines it without even considering it. Yet she surprises him; as soon as he suggests leaving, she nods almost feverishly quickly, a smile on her lips.

"Yes, I do believe that would be a valid idea," she agrees with him. "So, I propose we board the next boat to America and begin a new life there…after all, there can only be a better version of London, do you not agree?"

He nods, making reservations for the pair of them upon the boat to set sail the following month, adequate time to dismantle the life reminding her of Oliver entirely, never for her heart to hurt again.

.

However, the week before they are due to sail, they begin to argue.

"Are you ever going to mention him again, Amelie?" Myrnin presses, continuing to ask her the question she has ignored fifteen times already. The longer she doesn't answer, the more he begins to remove from the boxes she is packing, until she looses it with him entirely.

"_Fool_! If you do not cease this behaviour _now_, Myrnin, I will…" she trails off, not knowing what threat to use on him.

"You will what, Amelie? Take away the materials for my lab that _I_ have bought for myself? Tell me you no longer need me?" he mocks her, watching as she narrows her eyes at him.

"Yes," she says finally, "I _do_ no longer need you, Myrnin. We both know you have no _real_ desire to go to America; you are doing it for me, something for which I am thankful. However, you are not religious and it is a widely known fact a large proportion of those who dare to make the move across to America do so for freedom, not science. You do what you _truly_ desire…not to please me."

He swallows loudly and nods, bowing his head slightly. "Well, I _am_ afraid of large voyages over water…and the science field is not as developed over in America at the minute. Get settled down, Amelie, and I shall perhaps move across in later life. For now, however, I want to stay."

She nods this time, realising the enormity of both their words. What began as simply annoyance has grown to be confessions that, in all honesty, perhaps they have outgrown one another. They have no need to be together all the time to know they will always be friends.

So, as she packs her final things, she realises that England has not only robbed her of the man she 'loves'…but also of her best friend.

Perhaps it's for the best that she is leaving.

_~x~  
April 1781_

_Dear Myrnin,_

_I do hope you are well._

_I know not when this letter shall reach you, across the Atlantic in England, but I wish to tell you of my plans._

_New York, whilst it is a magnificent place to be, is not where I desire to live for the rest of my existence. Granted, it holds the thrills many hope to experience in America, yet I do not wish to live here much longer._

_Myrnin, the alarming symptoms you have been experiencing as of late are _not_ supposed to occur; I have scoured the book numerous times to know that this can only be something ill-boding for our future. Our kind must group together in order to help ourselves through it, using science as a means to do this._

_I have bought land in a deserted area of Texas, where there are things perhaps we can utilise. We shall be entirely isolated, for it is sheep farming country – there is scarce water and such, but we shall make it work. I am sure of it._

_Come across, old friend, and join us here. Help me discover what is wrong with you._

_You see, England has already taken so much from me. I cannot allow it to keep you as well._

_Yours_

_Amelie_

She sends this, her heart aching slightly as it always does when she remembers her hometown. There are numerous vampires here, all of whom working for her in various ways, people who must do as she asks. She suspects one of them, Gerard, was her bodyguard as a small child – her mother's before her – yet she has never worked up the courage to ask.

After all, he reminds her of Oliver…

_~x~  
June 1820_

Many decades later and Morganville is entirely formed. Human inhabitants have begun to move in, just like the vampire ones. She has sent out her guards to fetch the vampires from across seas, ordering them killed if they do not co-operate – if they are getting sick then vampires can no longer be permitted to roam free.

She has not heard of Ysandre, Francois or Gloriana – all enemies of her – since the time of her father's demise, so she can only hope they have already been killed.

Yet there is the final one: Oliver.

She does not know if she wishes him dead or for him to agree to come to Morganville to live under her. The years robbed her of her sadness at his actions, leaving only the residue of anger and bitterness left, things she has put into her new personality. No longer shall she be impulsive or outwardly violent, things she believes partially endeared Oliver to her, but controlled and distant, being close to humans on few occasions.

Myrnin tried to talk her out of building the town and then of the collection of all vampires, citing Oliver as the reason why – can she spend eternity with him so close, after his betrayal? Yet she said she must, for he is close to discovering a fault with their make up, she is positive, and therefore she cannot allow her kind to die.

The doors open and she looks up to see one of the guards she dispatched to collect Oliver returning. His expression is grim, yet there is something about his eyes…it's different, she realises, but she is not quite sure how.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," his deep Russian accent partially obscures the words for a few moments. "He killed Frederick before I could bring him down. He refused to return here…he is dead, ma'am," he explains and she nods slowly, an abstract motion entirely devoid of the raging torrent of pain inside of her.

He's dead. Her lover is dead…the one who betrayed her, the one she has never stopped loving, _est mort_, no longer in the world.

"Thank you," she manages to say through unmoving lips. "You may go," she continues, only wanting to be alone.

The doors shut and she allows a tear to slide down her cheek tearlessly. Now, she decides, she can lock him away in her heart and never let him out. Perhaps, an ironic thought pops into her head, she could even fall in love once again.

_~x~  
12__th__ February 1953_

This is the day she falls in love again – or, rather, the day she confesses it aloud for the first time.

It's with a human, which is a rather idiotic movement, yet it took almost three hundred years for her to move on from the last time, and it _is_ only the second time she has been in love.

She deserves it.

Sam Glass is the epitome of perfection, she decides, the one who makes her feel absolutely perfect inside, happy and warm in a way _nothing_ else can manage – and nobody ever could. He's the exact opposite of Oliver, a pacifist, someone who has a caring side to him and nothing further.

It's not even the same way that she fell in love with Oliver – that was in a more glorious setting, candlelight and their eyes meeting across the ballroom, the only vampires in a place. With Sam, the love came about simply because she visited him after the death of his wife, a romance that developed slowly over a period of time. And she knew as _soon_ as she realised it was present that it was love.

And now she is saying it to him, confessing possibly the most dangerous emotion in the world. In all honesty, she knows that she cannot be with him, which is perhaps more damming than when she was with _him_, someone she feels she can freely hate now without guilt – he could have came and been with her, tried to get her forgiveness, but he chose the desire for power over her.

But Sam, he wants her back…she can see it in his eyes, see that they're meant to be together. If she were anyone else, it would be possible. She knows by telling him that she loves him she is simply hurting them both, for they cannot be together since she's the _Founder_, but it's so _lovely_ to confess these feelings.

She kisses him and knows that it's _so_ much better than in the past, if only for she is one hundred percent sure she loves him unconditionally.

And she can honestly say, she loves Sam more than Oliver…for the first time, she has been able to say she loves something or someone more than _him_.

Sam is her soulmate, not Oliver.

_~x~  
early 2000's_

There is a knock at the door to her study, resulting in her setting her paperwork aside and calling the servant in. Her heart breaks slightly (as usual) as she laments it will most likely be Verity to inform her Sam is once again here to try and see her. She has never explained to him why she left, why she is such a _tease_ though she loves him entirely, for fear that he could twist her to believe that nobody would go after him – that they already know she loves him, so holding him away is utterly pointless.

But as the door opens, she gets the surprise of her life.

Someone she _long_ thought to be dead is standing before her…someone she once loved.

Oliver.

"Surprised to see me, Amelie?" his voice is harsh and cold, entirely the opposite of everything she remembers about him. Even in the surprise, the caged door to her heart which still contains him remains shut, giving her confidence that Sam _is_ for her, always and forever.

"For the simple reason you are supposed to be _dead_, you could indeed verify that this is my primary emotion," she agrees, remaining seated to try and prove, yet again, that is it is _she_ who is in control, not him. any influence he has had over her in the past has been entirely eradicated.

As she looks up at his familiar form, she feels nothing, she decides, nothing that could potentially draw her back to him – she's Sam's now, forever and always.

"I tricked your guards into believing I was dead – though, regrettably, I had to kill one of them to make it less suspicious," he tells her, a small smile slipping onto his lips. "It was a shame, for they must have been fine trackers to have found me, yet I knew that you knew that I was a fine fighter so to be defeated is strange enough, let alone to not lose another at the same time," he continues, evidently thinking she shall be impressed.

"In all honesty, Oliver, my life has been simpler since you vacated it, therefore now you are back, I would allow you to leave Morganville now without remaining," she informs him, her tone entirely devoid of warmth or anything that could signify they knew one another in a prior time period.

"Oh, no, Amelie, I am going to follow your rules," he smiles wider at her, sitting down in the seat though she has not asked him to. "You know I want your position. The past has absolutely no bearing on me – the whisperings I have heard since I entered this damned town have told me that you found yourself another lover…and then turned him into one of us. Therefore, I see no need in pretending I love you," he continues, making her confused as to why he is here.

"Then your purpose here is…?"

"I want the book," he bends towards her as he says these words. She stares at him, agape, for a moment before straightening up and smiling a secret smile.

"Oh, I must say good luck on that mission then, dearest Oliver," she laughs very slightly, a harsh tone which confesses the hatred she has for the man who sits before her. "You see, Myrnin, lost the book. He required it for something or other during his research into the disease we all have, before then misplacing it so badly that it shall probably be after every vampire has died that it is found." For the first time since it occurred, she is pleased that the book is missing.

"And I want this position of yours," he whispers dangerously. "You formed this town, you may be the oldest, but you have no right to lay claim to it. If you must have every vampire in the same location, it does not have to be you in charge."

"You speak the words of a mutineer, Oliver," she stands delicately, looking like a frail doll though there is a violent creature beneath the surface. "You know how I feel about mutineers. However…let us not be hasty. I remand my job, for it is _my_ town – you shall never take it from me. Yet…to be fair, I suppose I could have a second-in-command. So long as you are willing to pose as a human and own the local coffee shop, dressing in an appropriate manner, you can have a certain level of responsibility." The punishment for behaving as a human is enough, she thinks.

Surprisingly, he nods without arguing with her and stands. "I know not why you are doing this, but know that I _will_ be where you are sitting…one day," he threatens her, yet she simply waves him off, staring stonily at him.

"And I know that one day, the book shall be back in my hands and you shall be regretting you ever stood against me," she responds, the distant rumbling of cars starting in Morganville signifying night is approaching. "Let us see if the vampires stand with you or with me and only then do we need to discuss power issues in Morganville. But, as I suspect it shall be forever more, _I_ control it. So leave now, before I change my mind about your status."

He stands slowly and walks to the door, a certainty in his step that worries her. She knows that she shouldn't feel anything other than hatred for him, something which she doesn't, but…he's trying to trick her into doing something, she knows this, but what she is not quite sure.

_~x~  
when Bishop returns_

"The time has come once again, Oliver, where you decide where your allegiance lies," she tells him harshly, once they have managed to clear her father out of the building. It's more than a small shock to see him alive, she thinks wryly, knowing that she evidently should have mutilated his body to have ensured he died.

Now she is sitting opposite Oliver for the first time in months, the only time she can remember since she defeated his quest for the book – or, rather, Claire Danvers did. She reminds Amelie of when she was younger, when she had the ill-advised romance that shall only end in misery.

"I realise that…damn," he curses as she takes another of his pieces from the board, her experience in chess showing. "Well, whilst we have had history, I suppose that Bishop is higher on my hated list than yourself, so I shall fight with you."

"What a compliment, Oliver, I shall ensure to cement it forever in my mind along with the various other things you have said to me since you moved to my town," she smiles slightly but it doesn't reach her eyes, showing it is simply a smile of sarcasm.

"Oh, honestly, Amelie, you don't suppose I have forgotten about the past, do you?" he sighs, bringing up the years past for the first time since his first day in the town. "I remember how vile that man was. I remember why I went with you to rid him from the world…therefore, I shall stand on your side again. Though I must play the double agent, know that I _always_ share your opinion with Bishop."

Something in his tone worries her slightly, but not that he shall betray her – no, it's something that she cannot describe. It's so enormous that words could not describe how she perceives something that is most likely not even present.

"Very well," she finally responds, hearing the Glass House children returning. "That is most adequate, Oliver. You may go."

He shoots her a contemptuous look before departing, a ripple in the air that she does not even notice.

But he does.

_~x~  
after Sam's death_

Only _now_ does he realise that he has been lying to himself for so many years, that he doesn't hate Amelie, no he loves her. He has never stopped loving her; the power is just something that he desires.

Now, he realises his mistake in the past was to give into the desire – who knows, perhaps now, they could have still been happily together rather than 'enemies' brought together by fighting a common enemy.

Perhaps now, she would be with him, rather than pining for an idiot.

Then again, he laments, perhaps Sam was a good thing. If he had done what Sam did, he couldn't have a second chance with Amelie. For now, you see, Amelie regrets Sam's death, thinking she only has loved _him_ for the past however many years. Oliver can see that she has continued to love him, deep down, and that perhaps this side could be coaxed out, an impossible feat if her 'soulmate' remained on the planet.

On the flip side, she is so distraught over the death of her 'lover', in a state of such depression that she kept him pushed away, perhaps she shall never accept the feelings between them…perhaps she shall continue to mourn the love she pushed away for the majority of their relationship, putting "What if's" at the front of every sentence she thinks of.

It's a tough decision to make, he decides, as to which way she shall go, but he can only hope it is the first option. It's what he's banking on.

But his actions to make her feel slightly less stressed, to allow her the time he knows she needs to grieve (for how can she be with _him_ if she continues to mourn Sam?), will only result in her hating him, he fears. If he tries to take the town from her, surely she shall only react with fierce, uncontrollable anger?

Yet, in his heart, this is what he wants. He wants her to act fierce and strong, how she _used_ to be, the woman he fell for…it was Sam who was endeared by the coolness of the woman, the way she would hold back, yet he knew a woman less afraid to show how she feels, someone who would stand and fight for what she believed in, rather than running away or allowing another to fight for her.

He plots to take parts of the town from her, so she can relax…he can only hope it shall either allow her to mourn properly, or return her to full strength to fight with him once again.

He doesn't know which option he would rather have.

_~x~  
Ghost Town setting_

She's losing control of the town, he can see that, and she's even losing herself. She can't be in charge of the town and, for the first time, he can see a chance for him to take the town for himself.

If he's _truly_ honest, he does still want the town. Of course he does – the desire for power never truly fades away, and whilst he loves Amelie (he finally recognises that the feelings have never dimmed, not even one iota), perhaps he needs this chance to shine.

So he bites her, takes the power from her and becomes the ruler of Morganville in the middle of the crisis of people forgetting who they are. He would _never_ humiliate her, _never_, and the assumption by the others in the room that he would hurts him – then again, he has just taken her power.

He can see in her face that there is something more than shame and embarrassment – there's pain there as well, pain that he would do this to her.

This is when he realises that she still loves him – truly.

He tries to speak to her, to explain that he knows what's going on, when he knows she needs rest. She could be susceptible to this mind loss thing – he has a theory upon why only certain people are forgetting – and so he doesn't want to discuss it.

"Tell nobody about this," he warns Richard and Claire in the room, wishing to simply sink to his knees under the immensity of everything that has happened yet not daring to for fear that they could say something.

"What, that you love her?" Richard blurts out and Oliver can only look at him in anger – how can he tell? Is it that obvious that he loves the ancient vampire, the one who has – _had_ – so much control in this town, or is this human simply extremely perceptive.

"Say that again and this town shall be looking for another mayor," he growls defensively, not wanting to do anything else incase he blurts out that this is the truth. So he then dismisses the humans and goes to Amelie.

.

He heads into the area where he knows she is sleeping, feeling the strangest sense of pride as the guards move (albeit reluctantly) to allow him through without question. Now he is in charge, they can only obey him.

He opens the door to find the room strangely silent. There are no sounds of breathing, which worries him. This is why he takes another step into the gloomy room, looking for the petite woman when…

She runs at him throwing herself upon him in a means to incapacitate him. there is absolutely no sign that she was either attacked by Ysandre or had her control of Morganville taken from her – she's full of vitality, having forgotten the ice-cold mantra she usually possesses…forgotten.

Too late, he realises that she has fallen afoul of the machine. Those with reasons to return to the past, those with desires so great that the only way to achieve them is to forget the present, are the ones who succumb to the machine – she wants Sam back, he can tell, just as Richard wants to not be mayor…Michael wants his family back in Morganville – inclusive of Sam – whilst Shane wants his little sister…as for the other humans, he doesn't particularly know (or care) but they must have suffered losses or partook in events they desire to forget.

Before he can protest, her fangs sink into his neck, draining him of the power he temporarily possessed. Completely the opposite of his fiery hot power, her's is cool and frightening, belonging in her he realises. Whilst they can be near equals, she always shall have an edge over him – it is, after all, her town.

"Where is my Samuel?" she growls at him, as soon as she is entirely back in control. Her white blonde hair billows behind her, the perfectly translucent skin of her face shining in the small amount of light in the room.

To him, she has never looked so beautiful.

And then, he realises that she has forgotten their allegiance, that she has returned to believing he is the evil one in their life – that the only thing he has tried to do to her is trick her into loving him then trying to kill her. She's forgotten everything beyond her loving Sam – he presumes her memory has taken her back to the happiest day she had with him.

Before he can answer, she throws him against a wall, resulting in a bleed from some limb or another – he is weak from the loss of blood, and, anyway, he doesn't want to fight his Amelie.

Finally, the door opens and he is saved from the madwoman who is the only one for him.

In a way, he is sort of happy that she instantly hated him, rather than being confused and perhaps kissing him – she wouldn't remember she had done it and it would only break his heart to keep it a secret.

Perhaps they're not meant to be, after all.

_~x~  
Bite Club time_

Something has been changing in her feelings towards him, she laments painfully as she sits in her chair. It's not something she has particularly been happy about – after all, she is still mourning her Samuel, the one who she knows was _supposed_ to be with her forever – but it is something she cannot change.

The return of Gloriana, the way she has dispatched Oliver to pretend to fall under her glamour, has her jealous. She recognises the emotion from when she was with Samuel – she was jealous of his dead wife, the space in his heart she continued to possess for such a long time. But now, to watch Oliver pretend to feel something for that, for want of a better word, _bitch_, she knows she cannot bear it any longer.

She recognises now that the apparently well locked away feelings she has for him have been uncaged – and they have been like that for quite some time. How long is indeterminable, especially since Sam continues to linger over her, but she knows that there is something here, something present in her that desires Oliver once again. She can only hope he feels the same way.

Her hand lingers over the phone, wondering whether to call him back from his spying mission. Her demands have been met so much more readily by _all_ of the inhabitants of Morganville who know Bishop is back, knowing that she has entirely lost her coolness and calm. She is entirely back to being the violent and ruthless woman she once was, the one with no responsibilities for anyone or anything – only now she has Morganville, the place she may threaten to destroy but she never will.

For, no matter how much she loves Oliver, she will always love Sam. And she can never leave the place where he died for her.

But she puts the phone down after subconsciously picking it up, managing to refrain from calling him back. she needs him to keep an eye on Gloriana, to see what she is up to – what _is_ it with old enemies returning to the town?

.

Days later, she finds herself desiring the old days – and the old activities. She finds this modern world restricting, limiting her to hobbies and such that she _should_ do…but she wants to fence.

She calls Oliver and invites him for a match, feeling the calmest she has since her father escaped. It continually worries her how it occurred, yet this activity is enough chance for her to be able to relax and forget for even a few minutes…and it's with the person she wishes to talk to the most.

She suffers through the boring state of having to count Oliver and Eve in, wishing for the damned humans to _leave_ already so she can talk with Oliver. Yet she soon realises that they are not going to depart as she fights – _trains_ – so resigns herself to simply fencing him, focusing on that.

It fails; she ends up watching him rather than his sword, barely able to keep up with the counting of mortal hits. In the end, she has to give up as she desires to speak with him so badly, if she doesn't stop, she will blurt something out in front of the humans.

So she gives the scores and orders him to come with her through the portal, back to her house, leaving the girls in the room. She does not care about what they think; she merely needs to speak to Oliver, to ascertain his position before continuing.

Returned to her house, she takes a seat in her desk chair and faces him, jolts of remembrance of over three hundred years ago when they had the same conversation, almost, hitting her at this time.

"Deja-vu?" he asks her, a wry smile on his face that gives her the confidence to know that she must do this, must confess her feelings.

"Yes, I suppose," she thinks not about her missing father or the tangled relationship webs of the others in Morganville, but simply about herself. She decides that she _deserves_ to be happy for once, that Sam died for her to live, not for her to die with him.

"Let me speak, as before," he suggests and she nods, not wanting to broach the subject again. "Amelie, I realise now that my mistakes in the past were unforgivable. I acted rashly and wrongly, destroying the one happiness in my life in the process. That would be you, woman."

She raises her eyebrows slightly at his addressing of her but does not speak, simply looks at him. As usual, his eyes are a doorway into him, the one way she has always been able to read his emotions – if she had been smart enough, she would have looked through these before to decide to confess her feelings, yet she overlooked this.

"I…I think repeating what I said all those years ago would be a bright idea," she smiles slightly, narrowing her eyes to remember the memory she suppressed in an attempt to forget. "I do believe you have near perfectly summarised the precise statement I would have given," she rolls off as if she was not reciting from her past memory but speaking proudly now.

This time, he moves around and kneels before her, taking her hand and looking at her. "Things shall be different this time, Amelie. I swear."

She shrugs slightly standing up and pulling him to a standing height without effort. He is so much taller than her, the only resemblance to Samuel. And she knows, with this reminder, that things shall always be different. For, this time, there is the addition of another one to the equation, a past lover – whereas before, he was the first person she ever loved.

The first person she never _stopped_ loving.

"Very well," she manages to say, before she remembers. He bends over to kiss her but she moves away, not wanting this physical representation yet. "No, Oliver, I cannot. We…we must find my father first. Only then will I be truly happy and able to know that this is not desire or anything akin to that."

She takes another step back, her face hardening from the softened features depicting love. Then she says, "As before, Oliver, know that I require you at my back."

He nods, eyes filled with the emotion she recognises, a small smile upon his lips. "Always, milady, always."

And she knows that he will never leave again.

* * *

_Wow._

_That was long._

_And the end…well, that went __**bleugh**__._

_Like, it wasn't how I imagined it._

_& the length…_

_Please don't fav or even __**read**__ without reviewing._

_Thank you._

_And Vitzy & Danielle, don't forget it's for you! :D_

_Vicky xx_


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